Forgiving Paris: A Novel(11)

“Before that,” Pen shrugged, “we have no idea where he was, what he did for a living.”

Oliver crossed his arms. “We assume McMillan is a false name, since we have no record of him before his time in Belize City.”

Oliver paced across the room and stared out the window. “You’ll make a stop at a Mennonite village called Lower Barton Creek. There’s a historian there who might know something. Ike is our best hope to verify whether McMillan and his daughter came from a Belizean Mennonite village.”

“Right.” Pen nodded. “Ike Armstrong made a report eleven years ago about the disappearance of his granddaughter—Susan James—and the woman’s two young children. We haven’t found a connection between them and McMillan. But it’s worth looking into.”

Jack set his notebook down. “If Eliza knows she’s about to be forced into a marriage, why would she talk to me? Why would she trust anyone?”

“There’s more to the story.” Pen handed Jack a sheet of paper. It was a wanted poster with McMillan’s face. The first charge listed was murder. Three counts. “Last week we learned about McMillan’s other dirty secret. What happens to the Palace girls when they age out.”

Oliver hesitated. “On a girl’s twentieth birthday McMillan gives her an envelope of cash and a fake passport. Some fancy clothes, that sort of thing. Then he sends her off with a couple of his henchmen.”

Jack shifted in his seat. The pieces were coming to gether. “The girls never make it off the compound, is that it?” He leaned forward.

“Exactly. At least that’s what our research suggests.” Oliver sighed. “At twenty, the girls know enough to take McMillan down. We believe just after their twentieth birthdays, he pretends to give them a send-off. Then he has them killed.”

Jack clenched his jaw. “There has to be a special place in hell.”

“I’m sure.” TJ stood and paced to the window. After a few seconds he turned and looked at the others. “We have details about at least one case. We’re working with the Belizean police, and one of our contacts at the department says a Palace girl went missing a few years ago—a friend of Eliza’s named Alexa. Not long after, a tourist found the remains of a Palace girl. Beautiful brunette. Shot in the back. Her suitcase full of designer clothes was buried a few feet away.”

Oliver shook his head. “Here’s the point. If Eliza learns that Alexa was, indeed, killed by McMillan, by her very own father and his men, then we believe she might work with us. To save the other Palace girls.”

Jack waited. The finer details of his assignment were coming.

“What you’ll do, Jack, is head to Belize Monday morning. Like we said, you’ll visit the Mennonite community first. Acting like a long-lost Mennonite grandson, you’ll speak with Ike Armstrong, the community’s historian. Two Mennonite girls have gone missing over the last decade. We believe one or both of them wound up at the Palace.”

“Terrible.” Jack jotted down the name. Ike Armstrong.

“Ask Ike about his missing family. Rumor is they drowned, but see what he knows. And see if he’s heard of Anders McMillan.”

“Got it.” Jack looked at Oliver again. “Ask him whether Eliza and her father were Mennonites at some point, is that it?”

“Exactly. Like we said, we can’t find any information on McMillan’s past.” Oliver returned to his folder and thumbed through it. “As if he landed on planet Earth a dozen years ago.”

TJ turned to Jack. “Finding out about McMillan’s past is key. No telling what he’s covering up.”

Jack nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Then you’ll switch gears and clothes and head to the beach.” Oliver’s voice fell. “You’ll visit the Blue Breeze Yacht Club and connect with one of McMillan’s guards. Once they believe you’re the groom, they’ll roll out the red carpet. You’ll agree to the cash transfer—the half a million Anders wants—then you’ll have access to Eliza.”

Of all the undercover work Jack had ever done, trafficking was the toughest. Pretending to be a customer—even as a way of saving the lives of enslaved girls—was almost more than he could take. But this was different. Even worse in some ways. He had to pretend he was buying Eliza for life. That he was sleeping with her two nights in a row to see if she was worth marrying—strictly for business purposes.

Jack felt his determination rise. If that’s what it took to rescue Eliza and the other girls at the Palace, he was ready.

Oliver opened a folder. “The guard will make arrangements for you to visit the Palace that night, and there you’ll be given access to Eliza’s bedroom.” The matter clearly disgusted Oliver, too. But every step of the mission was calculated and necessary. “During your time with her you’ll keep things completely platonic, of course. And you’ll reveal the truth to Eliza. Tell her that her father killed Alexa and that others will be killed, too.” He paused. “Then give her one more incentive.”

“This is important.” Pendergast pulled another paper from his folder and handed it to Jack. “Technically, Eliza is an accomplice. She’s helped lure young girls to the Palace for several years now. We assume this has been against her will, but either way she’s complicit. She’s looking at a lengthy sentence if she’s convicted.”